


1981

by give_me_novacaine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Christmas, Light Angst, Marauders, Prisoner of Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 08:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10567089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/give_me_novacaine/pseuds/give_me_novacaine
Summary: Christmas from two separate perspectives - the man who knew almost everything about what had happened on Halloween and the man who didn't. Yet both still suffered for it, both in loneliness, both only in their early twenties. And why did all this happen?Because war ruined people.





	

A young man was sat alone in a dark, damp cell. Bored as ever, ran a finger across the jagged part of the cold stone wall, catching a glimpse of the first morning sunlight break through a crack in it. Just looking at his appearance told you everything - sunken dark eyes, pale skin, uncut black hair that looked unwashed and unkempt. But you could also see the man he'd been only two months ago hidden behind his features. Sure, he wasn't as handsome, but shadows of that were there in his natural facial construction. It was as if he'd only started to fade. Even his hair wasn't too long yet, of course, he'd only cut it in October. October? How long ago had that been? Surely it was December now… surely it was- Christmas. Oh god it was Christmas day. It was if a Dementor had seized his throat, suddenly be felt emptier than before. Why was the idea of Christmas making him even more miserable? Last year was a lovely Christmas. It has been the last time all four Marauders and Lily had spent a whole day together. God it'd been the best. Sure there was a lot of crying, nappies and 'pass the baby to whoever looks the least tired' but that was the fun of it, right? Sure they all got a bit drunk and sure Lily fell asleep at four in the afternoon, and sure James got Sirius the ugliest pair of socks known to wizardkind (which he still regretted chucking) but that was the fun of it. Where was the fun? Peter was probably having fun, wherever he was. He was probably still a rat, probably hidden, hailed as a martyr while Sirius rotted away here. A Dementor passed the bars of his cell, making the place even colder than it was, and then a solemn man passed, carrying a body. So another prisoner had cracked and died in here, died of madness. God this place was hell. Living breathing hell. With a large sigh, the twenty-two year old tried to focus back on the past. So many great memories. Memories of the four of them, the four best friends, laughing and smiling and crying together. Then it hit him, hard as a tone of bricks thrown through his cell bars, that he wasn't the only one left to suffer for these events.

* * *

A young man sat alone in a tattered, moth-eaten armchair. The room he was sat in, a plain and small one, was silent, eerily so. A pair of sad eyes were fixed softly out the window, gazing at the first of the morning light as it came up. Once again, there were tear stains under his eyes, and dark circles under the tears stains, but the rest of his face was a whitish pale. A solitary cup of cold tea lay abandoned next to the arm of his chair. He hadn't been drinking. Or doing anything for that matter. How could he? He could't even believe it was Christmas - surely time was standing still. Maybe he'd been dreaming. But that wasn't likely now, was it. In fact, everything felt too vivid, too real, too violent to be anything other than the truth. Unless, of course, this was how it felt to crack up. He still wouldn't believe it - that three of his friends had died because of another one's horrid betrayal. He didn't want to. He hadn't spoken in ages. Denial, probably. Even when he did try to he'd things out of his system, nobody understood the feelings he felt, the pain he was going though. It was almost if he'd been impaled but everyone refused to admit it. But here he still was, apparently, the last man standing, if it were, because betrayal didn't count. Nobody, not even Albus Dumbledore, could imagine loosing four friends in one night and being left completely and utterly alone, condemned to a bitter life of misery and prejudice. With a soft sigh, he snapped out of his trail of thought and wandered to the kitchen to dispose of the tea, but made the unwise decision to make another cup. Setting his mug down in the sink for later, a strange occurrence woke him up slightly, and a tiny owl holding a letter was pecking at the window, which was already dirty. A loud noise made the owl jump, but it was just the window being opened, and the owl handed him the letter with a little flap of its wings. Remus turned it over and instantly recognised his dad's handwriting, and as he closed the window, he opened his only Christmas card of the year, and read it with a ghost of a smile curling into his lips, for just a second. After that second though, he set the card down and went back to his tea, swimming in thoughts again. This was relentless, almost, and brought a sickening feeling to him like it always did. Oh how very much he hated Sirius Black.


End file.
